


Autassassinophilia

by TheComposer



Category: Toriko (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Biting, Bruises, Dirty Talk, Fingerfucking, Held Down, Large Cock, M/M, Oral Sex, Rimming, Scars, Size Difference, Teasing, Threats, autassassinophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-26
Updated: 2013-09-26
Packaged: 2017-12-27 16:15:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/980999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheComposer/pseuds/TheComposer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zebra finally gets his reward for helping Komatsu and Toriko in the Gourmet Pyramid.</p><p>One-shot, PWP.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Autassassinophilia

**Author's Note:**

> This was written to fit several head-cannons of mine:  
> 1) that Komatsu is not-so-secretly an autassassinophiliac, and that is why he stuck with Toriko at the very beginning, and why he always seems to be putting himself in danger  
> and  
> 2) Zebra, with that fucking voice of his, would be the absolute master of dirty-talking.
> 
> It somehow ended up being 14 pages long...I hope you all like it.

They fit together so well, better than he would have imagined; he stood straddling Zebra’s thighs where he sat in the natural hot spring, his body pressed against the broad expanse of the red haired man’s chest.  The back of his neck was cradled in the palm of one huge hand, the thumb stroking the short hair at the nape of his neck lightly enough to raise goosebumps along his arms and send a shiver down his spine as he set his hands against the bishokuya’s shoulders to balance himself. There was a kind of guarded curiosity in Zebra’s eyes, a little smirk quirking the untorn corner of his mouth upwards.  
  
“C’mere, kid,” he growled, and Komatsu started as Zebra’s other hand slid slowly up the length of his legs, finally cupping his ass and pulling him forwards until his hips were pressed snugly against the man in front of him. Standing this way put him slightly above the gourmet hunter, but the larger man didn’t seem to have a problem pulling him down for a kiss. It was strange—almost disconcerting—to feel the movement of air against his tongue once it slipped past Zebra’s lips; the tear that split his cheek from the corner of his mouth almost to his ear was impossible to ignore, but Komatsu found he didn’t mind it.  
  
The hand gripping his ass shifted, until Zebra’s thumb was rubbing firm circles over his tailbone and making Komatsu squirm and clutch his shoulders more tightly. He made a little, strangled sound of surprise into the kiss, startled, when that thumb slipped lower to slide across his asshole; the sensation was nearly electric, and he arched his back in response, breaking the kiss. Zebra’s hand was heavy against the back of his neck, but he still allowed the chef to move at least a little.  
  
“Z…Zebra-san?” It came out as a question, though he really didn’t mean it to, and Zebra snorted at him in apparent amusement while still toying with him. His hips jerked slightly against the bishokuya’s chest every time that impossibly large thumb slid across his hole, and to his undying embarrassment, his arousal was quite obvious by this point.  
  
“I helped you and Toriko get the mellow cola, didn’t I?  And I never got to enjoy my reward.” Komatsu tried and failed to suppress a small shiver at the memory of Toriko having to tell Zebra—more than once—that Komatsu was not meant to be eaten.  “I know you won’t form a fuckin’ combo with me until I finish my full course menu, but there’s more than one way to have someone, yeah?”  He paused for a moment, his thumb ceasing its motion; Komatsu made a brief, needy sound before he caught himself, blushing brightly.    
  
“You okay with this? You seem pretty damn interested from where I’m sitting,” he said, gruffly, with a look that seemed closer to a glare than anything else. It took Komatsu a moment to process the fact that not only had Zebra asked for his consent, he was waiting to hear his response before he did anything else. He smiled at that; for all that he did his best to hide it, he really did have a code of honor. He nodded, then, leaning forward to press a quick, light kiss to the torn side of Zebra’s mouth before responding.  
  
“Yes, Zebra-san,” he said, earnestly, still smiling slightly. He paused, considering his next words, and then spoke again. “I…I’ve been thinking about…something like this since the first time you…said you were going to eat me,” he admitted, his voice soft and slightly faltering. “I mean, I know you’d never…not really…” Honestly, he had been afraid that the ravenous bishokuya meant it literally the first time…but that hadn’t stopped him from thinking about the threat later, little thrills of heat shooting through him as he thought about all the other ways the statement could have been meant. Zebra laughed, then, the sound low and dry and filled with a kind of dark promise; exactly as it always was.   
  
“You gettin’ cocky?” he growled, and Komatsu gasped to find himself suddenly hoisted into the air, one huge hand flat against his upper back and Zebra’s other arm hooked across the backs of his thighs as he stood up, stepping out of the hot spring and onto the grassy bank that surrounded it before kneeling down; the chef found himself on his back on the ground, half-stunned and blinking up at Zebra where he was silhouetted against the night sky.   
  
The larger man smiled broadly, teeth glinting in the moonlight, and Komatsu felt a sudden spike of something halfway between fear and arousal as Zebra moved to guide his hands over his head; he lifted them willingly, stretching his arms out above him and pressing his wrists together before they were both encircled—enveloped—in one hand and pinned firmly, but not painfully, against the ground. It occurred to him in a sudden moment of stark clarity just how _big_ the other man was, how _dangerous_ —and how absolutely _safe_ he was here beneath him.  He let out a shaky breath, almost intending to say something, but was cut off by the bishokuya speaking first.   
  
“Who says I’m _not_ gonna eat ya? Only question is what part of you I’m gonna start with.” That got his heart beating faster, and Zebra cocked his head to the side slightly, listening; his shivered again, pulling lightly against the hand restraining both of his without any real desire to get away. Zebra bent lower over him, and abruptly licked a broad stripe up the column of his throat. He turned his head to one side, his toes curling into the damp grass as a little, hastily choked off sound of pleasure escaped him. Zebra seemed to take this as an invitation, mouthing at the curve of his ear, teeth scraping at the outer edge of it.  
  
“Fuck, kid, you sound almost as good as you taste,” he breathed, and Komatsu briefly considered interjecting that he was really only a couple months younger, but he abandoned the idea quickly; it was hard to think coherently with Zebra’s breath hot against his ear, so much restrained power simmering in his voice that the chef could feel it as much as hear it. “And the way you _look_ ,” he continued, with an appreciative nip at Komatsu’s earlobe. “So fuckin’ trusting…didn’t even struggle when I pinned you down…hell, you helped me do it! Baring your throat like this…practically begging for it, aren’t ya?”   
  
Komatsu made another involuntary little sound when Zebra’s mouth found his throat; he stiffened slightly when the bishokuya bit down, hard enough to get his hips to jerk up off the ground. He worked over the same spot with his lips and teeth for a moment, then pulled away to lick at the bite mark—which would no doubt become quite an impressive bruise by the next day—until  Komatsu was squirming and arching up towards him. At that point, Zebra pulled back slightly, hovering over him, leering down at him with a broad grin.  
  
“Your heart’s beating so _fucking_ hard,” he growled, licking his lips hungrily, his stare so intense that it almost made Komatsu uncomfortable. “I can _hear_ it. Always could. You think I don’t know it gets you _hot_ when I scare you a little? You have no fuckin’ idea what it was like, listening to the way you responded every time I said I’d kill ya or some shit, knowing you were gonna think about it later while you were touching yourself…” Komatsu went flushed an even darker red, his eyes widening, because somehow it had never really dawned on him that his late-night activities in the lift house—after he thought the two bishokuya were asleep—had been overheard, even knowing how sensitive Zebra’s ears were.  “I wanted to break your fuckin’ door down and _take_ you right then.”   
  
He had never really expected Zebra to be this… _talkative_ , but thinking about it now, it made perfect sense;  given what an integral part of his being his sense of hearing was, it was only natural that talking dirty would be something he did. This thought flitted into and out of his head before he could really consider it, because it was at this point that he realized Zebra was actually _salivating_ as he looked down at him, the way he did when looking at some particularly delightful piece of food.  
  
“Cocky little _bastard_ ,” he said, but his smirk never wavered. “I’m gonna take my sweet fuckin’ time now, though. Got you all to myself…no one else around,” he continued, bending down a little closer, his voice going slightly lower, seeming to fill Komatsu’s chest with its steady rumble. “No one to _save_ you.” He knew perfectly well that Zebra had chosen that phrase deliberately, knowing what it would do to the chef beneath him; he felt his cock twitch slightly as a truly embarrassing moan escaped him. The red-head laughed, a sound that had sent men and beasts running for cover in the past. Komatsu’s hips jerked uselessly upwards, seeking friction and unable to press against anything.  “I’m gonna taste every last fuckin’ inch of you. Make you _beg_ for it before I let you come.”  
  
Zebra kissed him then, deeply, his tongue pushing past his lips and dragging across the roof of his mouth, lightly enough to make him shudder. The hand that wasn’t occupied with holding his wrists down slid up to his chest, and he gasped into the kiss when he felt his nipple caught and rolled roughly between Zebra’s thumb and forefinger. The larger man broke the kiss after a minute, pulling back to let the chef pant for air and squirm under his ministrations. He tugged, firmly, drawing a little whine from Komatsu.  
  
“And while I do all of this, you’re gonna tell me exactly what you were thinking of while you were jerking yourself off in that fuckin’ lift house.” He felt the color leave his face at the thought of actually telling Zebra what he’d imagined, only to return a moment later as he flushed; lying was out of the question—the bishokuya would be able to tell immediately if he did so—and refusing to share would be just as bad. He let out a little whine when blunt fingernails pressed into his nipple, not quite hard enough to hurt, but enough to send a little spike of sensation through him. Zebra’s mouth found his throat again after a moment, his fingers still teasing and toying with his nipple.  
  
“I was…I was thinking about something…” he paused, swallowing hard, “…about what you said to Toriko-san while we were still on the road to Honey Prison.  At least, what I think you said. I couldn’t…couldn’t hear you, but it seemed like you asked if…if he’d brought me along to give to you. As something to…keep. Or to eat.” His voice sounded unsteady in his own ears, thickened slightly by pleasure and no small amount of embarrassment. Zebra shifted slightly, his breath coming in hot puffs against his ear as he laughed.  
  
“Wanna know what I said to him?” he questioned, his tongue sliding along the curve of Komatsu’s ear as he changed which hand he was holding the chef down with, his other hand finding the chef’s other nipple, rolling it between his fingers and plucking lightly at it. Komatsu made a low sound of agreement, closing his eyes for a second.   
  
“I asked him if he brought me a gift. Told him my mouth had been watering since I first heard your voice…your heartbeat. I thought about telling him how I wanted to hear you scream, but I figured he’d just yell at me some more,” he said, and Komatsu could feel his smile widen as he spoke. “That all you were thinkin’ of? Or was there more?” He shifted again, licking under the curve of his jaw before nipping abruptly at his shoulder, teeth working into the sensitive flesh as he tugged at his nipple again.  
  
“I w…was thinking…about what it would have been like…if he _had_ given me to you,” he blurted out, all in a rush, half cringing as he waited for some kind of mockery. Instead, Zebra lifted his head from his shoulder with a quick, rough intake of breath that he let out in a way that was very nearly a growl, punctuated by a twist of his nipple that made him squirm. “Wh…what you might do to me,” he continued, his voice growing a little softer, tinged with need. “How you’d _use_ me.”   
  
“ _Oh._ ” The sound was drawn out into a laugh, which in turn faded into a groan. “What’d you come up with, huh? What d’ya want me to do to you?” Quick as lightening, his hand moved away from his chest to be replaced by his mouth, teeth digging into his nipple hard enough to make him cry out and buck his hips as his eyes flew open again. “How’d you imagine it? You think I’d do it fast and hard? Or did you think I’d drag it out like this, until you were begging me to hurt you just a _little…bit…more_?” He pulled back then, looking almost contemplative, before his smirk turned into something cruel and sharp.   
  
“Or…knowing you, how much you like that little bit of _fear_ , maybe you were thinking about somethin’ else?” The grip on his wrists tightened; it wasn’t painful yet, but the vise-like pressure of it was nearing the point of discomfort.  “Maybe you were thinking about some of the crazy fuckin’ stories people tell about me, saying I _eat_ cocky bastards that piss me off—“ and that was completely ridiculous; Zebra was many things, but he wasn’t a cannibal, “—and maybe you were thinking about me pinning you down—just like this—and figuring out which part of you I was going to eat first.” He paused, head tilted slightly—listening again—then grinned and shifted until he could take one of Komatsu’s wrists in each hand.   
  
“That’s it, isn’t it?” he laughed, almost gleefully. “I _knew_ you were tougher than you looked. You get off on the sort of thing that would make most men piss their fuckin’ pants,” he added.  The seemingly enthusiastic acceptance of the sort of… _peculiarity_ he had assumed would send anyone who knew about it running was almost dizzying, intoxicating. Komatsu felt his breathing speed up, slightly, at the thought that maybe Zebra was aroused by the same sort of thing, and he had to work hard to stifle a tiny groan that the other man doubtlessly heard just the same.  
  
He kept one of Komatsu’s hands pinned against the ground, and slowly—inexorably—pulled the other hand up to his mouth, his thumb pressed firmly across the fleshy pad at the base of his fingers, forcing him to keep his fingers flexed and extended. He didn’t try to resist, watching with wide eyes as Zebra pulled his arm out straight and then bent his head to lick the chef’s trapped fingers.  
  
“I spend a lot of time thinking about it, in your fantasy?” he questioned, lightly, and Komatsu squirmed as the bishokuya’s tongue slid in between his fingers. “Figuring out where you’d taste best?” His smirk was indulgent, nearly mocking, but there was an underlying intensity to his voice that made the chef squirm and try again to arch his hips, seeking some kind of touch against his achingly hard cock.  
  
“Y…yes,” he breathed, his eyes half closing before he forced them open again, watching as Zebra nipped at one of his fingertips, making him automatically try to curl his hand into a fist; he found himself unable to do so, not with the way Zebra had hold of his hand. “Thinking about it and…” he paused, swallowing nervously, “…talking about…what you were going to st…start with.” It wasn’t fear that made him stutter so much as slight embarrassment and a truly powerful, desperate _need_.   
  
“Is that what you want me to do now, while I get you off, before I _fuck_ you?” Komatsu made a breathless noise of agreement, biting down on his lower lip. “You want to beg me to stop, not to hurt you…that sort of thing?” Komatsu froze, wide eyed, feeling his cheeks begin to burn; Zebra made an impatient sound, raising one eyebrow, and that forced him out of his stunned silence.  
  
“ _Yes._ ” He all but moaned the word, a lifetime of shameful, hidden fantasies all being forced to light at once. “I…I mean, if it’s okay, if you don’t mind,” he amended, feeling almost guilty until Zebra licked his lips again, the hunger still in his gaze.   
  
“If I don’t fuckin’ mind,” he laughed, managing to sound amused and aroused all at once. “You think I’d offer if I didn’t want to do it?” He paused, then looked slightly to one side as if indifferent. “If you actually get scared or want to stop, I’ll _hear_ it,” he added, seeming abruptly serious despite the unreadable look on his face. He waited until Komatsu nodded—contemplating, briefly, all the marvelous advantages of Zebra’s Hell Ears—before he continued. His whole posture seemed to change, his weight shifting forward and his smirk becoming decidedly cruel.  
  
“Your hands are pretty important to you, huh? You being a chef,” he mused, drawing Komatsu’s thumb into his mouth for a second, rolling his tongue around it. “I wonder if you could still cook if you were missing a couple fingers…or even a whole fuckin’ hand.” He drew in a quick, ragged breath, feeling a little lancet of mingled fear and arousal pricking the pit of his stomach. Zebra turned his head to the side, allowing part of Komatsu’s hand to slide into his mouth through the ruined part of his cheek, until he could catch his index finger between his back teeth. He bit down lightly, not even hard enough to hurt, but enough to be threatening. The chef felt his cock twitch again in answer to this; the threat would have been terrifying coming from anyone else, or in any other situation. As it was, it was hard to remember to put up even the pretense of true fright.  
  
“Wh…what? No! Please,” he stammered, pleading, able to hear the raw edge of need in his voice, seeing the answering hunger in Zebra’s eyes. “Please, I need…I need my hands. You can do _anything_ else you want, just not that.” The bishokuya groaned, low in his throat, then pulled his hand away from his mouth after one final lick that traveled across the sensitive skin of his wrist and up the center of his palm before he pinned his hand over his head again and bent low over the captive chef.  
  
“Fuck, Komatsu…you keep begging like that and this isn’t gonna last too long,” he said, his voice low and just this side of a moan. He stretched out slightly, shifting forward until he could feel Zebra’s hardened cock slide against his thigh for a second; he had a moment of fierce, immense pride that he had caused such a reaction in the larger man. It wasn’t lost on him, either, that this was the first time so far that Zebra had used his proper name, and he felt a smile tug at the corners of his lips before he forced his face into an expression close to fear once again. Zebra straightened up again, leering down at him, his body filling almost his entire field of view.  
  
“Anything else I want,” he pronounced slowly, with obvious relish. “So if I told ya you were gonna have more scars than _me_ by the time I was through with you, it wouldn’t scare you?” The chef bit his lip, squirming, making a show of trying to pull away from the hands that held his arms pinned against the ground. “You know I could do it. One fuckin’ shout…” he trailed off, leaving Komatsu to shiver at the memory of Match-san’s scars, the legacy of one of Zebra’s Voice Cutter attacks.   
  
“But I wouldn’t do it that way,” he soothed, his smile still cruel. “Too…impersonal. I’d wanna use my _teeth_ to mark you up. Then go get that kitchen knife of yours and play with that a little. Cut my name into you so you don’t fucking forget who you belong to. Maybe fuck up that sweet little face, too, so no one else would look twice at you.” He bent down so quickly that it startled a yelp from Komatsu; Zebra bit the chef’s lower lip, tugging at it lightly, his teeth digging in and raking over the flesh until it was undoubtedly red and swollen. Komatsu dug his toes deeper into the grass, arching his hips and whimpering softly.  “And you’d just let me? Wouldn’t even put up a fight? After all, you said I could do _anything_ I liked,” he purred when he finally released his lower lip.  
  
“ _Please,_ ” he begged, struggling a little harder now that he knew Zebra wouldn’t let go the instant he pulled against his grip. “Don’t… _don’t…_ ” He couldn’t get much more than that out, choking on the thought of Zebra looming over him with Melk’s knife in his hand.  Zebra let out a growl of mock-frustration,  licking at his throat again before he shifted back and moved to grip both of Komatsu’s hands in one of his and pinning them against the chef’s chest as he moved farther down, until Komatsu could feel the heat of his breath against his achingly hard cock for a moment before he shifted to press his lips to his inner thigh.   
  
“How about this, then? You don’t need your fuckin’ legs to be a good chef, do ya? You can chop and stir and all that shit just fine sitting down,” he suggested, before biting down—hard—on the sensitive skin his lips had been pressed to just a moment before. Komatsu gave a little cry, his back arching, his fists clenching. There would be a bruise there the next day, in the shape of the Heavenly King’s impossibly large jaws, and the thought was enough to make him spread his legs a little wider, exposing more of himself to Zebra’s mouth. The bishokuya laughed, a low sound that was half-muffled by the mouthful of Komatsu’s thigh that he still had between his teeth.  
  
"You like that idea, huh?" he questioned, almost mocking as he pulled back slightly to lick the area he had just bitten, his free hand settling over Komatsu's thigh and kneading the sensitive flesh there before he gripped his leg just above his knee. He forced the chef to spread his legs a little wider, almost to the point of discomfort. "Know I do. You're so fuckin' _soft_ , here." Zebra nuzzled against his thigh, the sharp edges of his back teeth scraping against his skin. "It's not often I get to eat something this nice." He bit him again, a little harder; the chef let his head drop back against the grass with a little whine, pulling hard against the hand that kept his arms trapped against his chest.  
  
"Oh, g-god, _please_ ," he begged, his legs splayed wide and held that way by Zebra's hand. He forced his head up again, looking down at the man between his legs, making eye contact. "Don't hurt me," he breathed, catching his lower lip between his teeth, knowing that what he _actually_ wanted to beg for was obvious, his cock rock hard and leaking onto his belly just inches from the bishokuya's face. Zebra pulled back slightly, breathing out sharply, his fingers pressing a little harder into his thigh.  
  
"Oh, I'm gonna hurt you," he promised darkly, leering down at him, and this time Komatsu didn't try to stifle the little moan that escaped. "No avoiding that. It’s just a question of _where_ and _how much_.” His voice dipped into the lower registers again, and Komatsu could feel it thrumming in his own chest, the vibration making him squirm. “But…maybe I’ve been going about this the wrong way, huh? Teasing you…let you get _cocky_ , thinking you’ve got some kind of control over what I do to you.”  His hand slid slowly up the chef’s thigh, finally curving around his hip bone, his thumb just barely not touching his cock. Zebra held him down like that, hips pushed flat against the ground, leaving him unable to wriggle or arch up towards him. Komatsu groaned softly, frustrated and needy, his toes flexing and his hands clenching into useless fists.  
  
He sucked in a deep, shuddering gasp when the Heavenly King lowered his head to lick at the damp spot on his belly just above the head of his cock, sweeping upwards until he could press his tongue into Komatsu’s navel; it was a strange sensation, almost ticklish, and he tried—and failed—again to arch up. His struggling intensified when Zebra began dotting a series of sharp, almost-painful nips across the slight swell of his belly, occasionally catching a bit of flesh in his jaws and working it between his teeth, pulling a series of strained, helpless groans from the captive chef.  
  
“ _Please_! Zebra- _sa—”_ he couldn’t quite complete the honorific, the sound trailing off into a little sound of desperation as the bishokuya bit him again, a little lower this time, at the place where the slight swell of his belly began. His feet thumped against the ground as he tried to push up against the hand on his hip, knowing perfectly well that it was useless; Zebra made a little sound in return, a growl that caught in his throat and came out as something that was nearly a purr.   
  
“Still begging me not to hurt you?” he questioned, and Komatsu could _hear_ the smirk in his voice. “Or do you want somethin’ else now, hmm? Those little sounds you’re making…the way your heart’s beating so fuckin’ fast…you don’t really care what I do to you now, do ya? Just so long as at least part of it involves me touching that little cock.” He watched, holding his breath, eyes wide, as Zebra’s hand slid across his hipbone to hover over his cock, almost touching, close enough that he could feel the heat of his skin. “Look at you…can’t even think straight, can you? All helpless and needy and so fuckin’ desperate. C’mon, kid. Lemme hear it.” Komatsu made another little sound, halfway between a whine and a grunt, still fighting to push up towards the achingly close heat of Zebra’s hand.  
  
“Oh, _f-fuck_ , yes, _anything_. Bite me, mark me, _fuck_ me…make me _bleed,_ I don’t care, just _t-touch_ me!” he panted, his voice a little higher than it usually was, tight and half-strangled, his words spoken through gritted teeth.  Zebra made a low sound of appreciation, grinning broadly before he nipped roughly at his belly one final time, pulling another little whine from him.  
  
“I’m gonna hold you to that,” he growled, at the same time dragging his thumb slowly along the underside of Komatsu’s cock, from the base up to the tip and then over the head, sliding through the fluid that had gathered there. Zebra curled his fingers carefully around the chef’s cock, pressing his thumb firmly against the particularly sensitive area just below the head, rubbing gentle circles there and making him struggle and moan softly. He couldn’t buck up into the sensation, couldn’t free his hands to grab for the larger man, so he settled for what he could do; spreading his legs even wider, he managed to curl one of them around Zebra’s body, his heel pressing into the bishokuya’s hip and digging it in hard as he tried to urge him on. The red-haired man laughed, continuing his ministrations at the same maddening pace, showing no signs of doing anything more or even speeding up.  
  
He shifted again, sliding back up to pull the chef’s arm out over his head once more, his hand still working gently—maddeningly—over his cock. He was forced to let his leg drop back against the ground, and Zebra took this opportunity to move so that he was straddling the smaller man; Komatsu found himself even more securely trapped than he had been before, and he made a little sound of frustration that faded into a groan as Zebra’s mouth found his neck again. He turned his head to the side, tilting it back slightly to give the larger man better access to his throat, and was rewarded with a few firm strokes from the hand curled around his cock before he abruptly eased of again as he bit new bruises into the previously unmarked side of Komatsu’s neck, scraping his teeth over the skin, sending little jolts of sensation through the writhing, moaning chef.  
  
“ _Please_ ,” he hissed again, head still tilted back, jaws clenched, eyes shut tight. “D…damn it, I need _more_! Give me…just, _please_!” He knew he wasn’t making all that much sense, and he trailed off again when Zebra’s teeth dug into the curve where his neck met his shoulder, working into flesh there until he whined and bit his lip. When he pulled away, it was to whisper directly into Komatsu’s ear, his voice low and rough.  
  
“Told you I was gonna take my sweet fuckin’ time,” he growled, the hand on his cock abruptly going still. “But since you beg so sweetly, I’ll tell you exactly what I’m about to do to you.” He punctuated this sentence with a low, almost-cruel laugh that made Komatsu’s toes curl. “I’m gonna suck you dry, and then leave you here all wrung out and too tired to run away while I go get some oil from your bag—“ he jerked his head in the direction of their discarded clothes and the bag that held all the emergency supplies that Komatsu was never without, “—and then I’ll come back, flip you over, and pin you down while I give you a whole new set of marks. The sounds you make when I bite you…fuck,” he growled, appreciatively, nipping at the curve of his ear.   
  
“Then I’ll fuck you with my fingers, nice and slow and deep, until you’re hard and begging for it all over again.” He paused, and the chef felt rather than saw the wicked grin that spread across his face as he nuzzled into the soft spot just behind the hinge of his jaw.  “And then I’m really gonna fuck you, and we’ll see just how much that tight little body can take before you fuckin’ _break_.”  
  
Komatsu felt tension coil like a spring in his lower belly, and thought—not for the first time—that he could probably come just from listen to Zebra talk to him like this, teasing and taunting and almost-threatening. He was stunned into immobility when the man on top of him abruptly let go of him, sitting back on his haunches and sliding the chef out from between his legs. Komatsu didn’t have much time to consider this before he found himself picked up, his legs draped over the bishokuya’s shoulders; one hand curved under his ass, holding him up, and the other splayed out across his upper back to keep him steady. All of a sudden, without warning, his cock— _all_ of it—was enveloped in the wet heat of the other man’s mouth.  
  
He stiffened, then bent forwards with a hiss as he slid his hands through Zebra’s hair—longer than his own and still damp from their time in the hot spring—clutching convulsively at the other man. Because of his ruined cheek, the way it was torn open, he couldn’t technically suck; the way he worked his lips and tongue along the length of it, though, was more than good enough. Komatsu whimpered and rocked his hips slightly, desperate and needy and knowing that he wouldn’t last long at all; Zebra scratched lightly at his back, dragging short, blunt fingernails across his ribs and down his spine, making him arch backwards with a little groan as he gripped the man’s hair a little more tightly than he meant to.  
  
And then Zebra growled, a sound low enough and with enough power behind it that he could feel the vibrations of it in his core, all of that sensation seeming to center directly on his cock—that was all it took. With a little sound of mingled shock, pleasure, and embarrassment, he came; his hips rocked forward and his head fell back, his jaw going slack for a moment and his grip on Zebra’s hair weakening. Zebra, for his part, made a sound of something like contentment as he pulled back; he licked along the underside of Komatsu’s slowly softening cock, making the chef—still hypersensitive from his recent orgasm—shudder and try to pull away. Zebra set him down, then, wiping at his own ruined cheek to get the few drops of Komatsu’s seed that had escaped his mouth.  
  
“You taste even better than I thought you would,” he remarked, licking his fingers clean as he spoke; he flushed and looked away briefly, his heart still pounding in his chest but beginning to slow. And then Zebra stood _up_ , and that set his pulse racing once again. Sitting on the ground as he was, he suddenly felt incredibly small. Incredibly _vulnerable_ , especially with the Heavenly King grinning down at him from a little more than eight feet off the ground. “Don’t move, kid. I’ll be right back,” he said, with a little chuckle that was almost mocking before he took a few steps away along the edge of the hot spring, crouching over Komatsu’s discarded clothes and bag.   
  
Komatsu stood up on shaky legs, taking the time to stretch; he looked down at himself curiously, probing the already-visible bruises that dotted his belly with one finger. Even in the moonlight, he could still see the marks Zebra had left on him, and the sight sent a little thrill of heat and excitement through him. He splayed his fingers out over the slowly darkening handprint that marked his thigh, realizing that he couldn’t even come close to covering it with his own hand. He was pulled from his thoughts by the sound Zebra made when he stood up again, a bottle held in one hand; it only took a few steps to leave him standing in front of Komatsu once again, and the chef took an involuntary half-step back as he craned his neck to try to keep Zebra’s face in view.  
  
“I thought I told you not to move,” he said, a dangerous edge to his voice as he stooped to set the bottle of oil aside before rising, sliding one hand around to cradle the back of Komatsu’s head. He was forcibly reminded of the sheer size of the other man when he found that his eyes were on the same level as a spot just above Zebra’s hipbone, the bishokuya’s hard cock jutting up between the two of them. His gaze flicked downward briefly, but Zebra had moved around behind him before he could contemplate doing anything more than looking; his hands settled on Komatsu’s shoulders, heavily, and the chef felt a little tremor of nervous excitement in the pit of his stomach as the Heavenly King sank to his knees behind him, leaving them at nearly the same height.   
  
“You gettin’ _cocky_? You think you can just ignore me and there won’t be any consequences?” The tone of his voice was so deadly serious that Komatsu felt a momentary jolt of real fear; this was soothed by the feeling of Zebra’s lips pressing lightly against the back of his neck before curving upwards into a broad smile. His hands slid slowly down the length of the chef’s arms, and Komatsu automatically drew his wrists together in front of him, allowing the other man to encircle them in one large hand once again. This pulled a little chuckle from the man behind him, his breath coming in hot bursts against the back of his neck; the feeling was enough to make him squirm, tugging lightly against the hand around his wrists.    
  
“So, are you going to get down on your knees and put that sweet little ass in the air…or do you want me to force you?” He froze for a moment, then let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding when Zebra pulled his arms out in front of him, his other hand sliding down his thighs to push suddenly, sharply, at the backs of his knees; he half-knelt, half-fell, grateful for the soft grass that he landed on. He would still have bruises on his knees tomorrow—and he was looking forward to it—but the impact wasn’t quite so jarring as it could have been.   
  
“That’s what I thought. Too fuckin’ _trusting_. You really would let me do whatever I wanted to you, wouldn’t ya?” Zebra’s free hand rose again, settling itself between Komatsu’s shoulder blades and pushing him forward, until he was kneeling with his arms outstretched before him and ass raised. The man behind him shifted again, moving his hand off his back and planting it on the ground beside him, leaning down over him and licking a long, slow line up along his back, following the curve of the chef’s spine.   
  
He nuzzled briefly at the back of his neck before catching the skin there between his teeth, biting hard enough to make Komatsu squirm and let out a brief, half-stifled sound in response to it, his hips wriggling. This pressed his ass briefly against Zebra’s belly, too high for him to rub against him properly, but the bishokuya seemed to appreciate it nonetheless if the low growl he let out in response was anything to go by.  
  
“You’re being too fuckin’ quiet,” he said, punctuating his sentence with another sharp nip at the back of Komatsu’s neck.  “You need me to hurt you a little more to get you begging again?” He almost purred the question, licking gently at the bruise that was undoubtedly forming there.  “Or maybe I just need to scare you a bit, huh?” He shifted, gripping the chef’s wrists a little tighter, nudging his legs apart with one knee. A second later, Komatsu wet rigid as he felt Zebra thrust lightly against him; the red-head’s cock slid along his inner thigh, slowly, giving him a chance to truly appreciate the fact that the bishokuya was a large man in every possible sense of the word.   
  
“Just think…in a couple minutes, every last inch of _this_ —“ he thrust against his thigh once more “—is going to be inside of you. And you bein’ so fuckin’ small…it’s gonna be fun to see how wide I can spread you open.” Zebra seemed to rock back slightly, lifting his free hand from the ground so that he run one fingertip lightly over Komatsu’s asshole. The chef twitched, sucking in a quick, shallow breath as he tried to imagine what it would feel like; his cock was beginning to harden again, and it twitched slightly when the finger teasing him pressed just a little harder.   
  
“You won’t be able to walk right for a week, even if I do take my time. Imagine what would happen to this tight little ass if I decided I was just going to fuck you, right now.” He shifted, gripping Komatsu’s hip with the hand he had been teasing him with, and the chef felt the air leave his lungs in a rush when the head of Zebra’s cock pressed firmly against his hole. He struggled, not entirely in earnest but not entirely playing at it either, and the larger man immediately bent low over him to growl in his ear once again.   
  
“Oh, you don’t like that idea? Tell me what you want, then. If you beg sweetly enough, I might even listen.” He pressed a surprisingly gentle kiss against the back of his neck, then, the hand that had gripped his hip sliding underneath him to rub light, careful circles on his belly, seemingly trying to reassure him without words. Then the hand on his belly slipped lower, curving around his half-hard cock and giving it a few just-slightly-too-gentle pumps, and Komatsu groaned and arched his back.  
  
“I want…I want to feel your fingers in me, want you to fuck me with them,” he choked out, squirming again but with less fervor this time, his hips rocking as much as he could manage towards the hand still clasped around his cock. “I w…want you to stretch me open until I can take your cock, _all of it,_ b-because I _need_ you inside of me,” he persisted, feeling the heat rise in his face even as Zebra let out a long, low groan in response to his words, his grip on Komatsu’s cock tightening for a final few strokes before his hand slid back to grasp his hip again.  
  
“ _Fuck,_ Komatsu,” Zebra breathed, and the chef felt a sharp thrill of arousal at the sound of his name said like that. The larger man seemed to recover after a moment, though, releasing his hold on Komatsu’s wrists in favor of dragging his fingernails down his side until his hand settled against his hip.  He flushed when he felt his legs forced a little wider as Zebra shifted back, his hole exposed to both the night air and the bishokuya’s scrutiny. He arched slightly, surprised, at the sudden feeling of hot breath against his ass. “I _did_ say I was gonna eat ya, though,” he said, and Komatsu didn’t need to see him to know that Zebra was leering down at him.   
  
It still didn’t quite dawn on him what was about to happen until Zebra actually licked him, his tongue dragging across his opening. He squirmed, closing his eyes and digging his fingers into the grass; it was a strange feeling, disconcerting and nearly off-putting. Still, the low sounds of appreciation the other man was making, combined with the hot, slick pressure of it made him bite his lip and moan softly; Zebra licked him again, twice more, then pressed the tip of his tongue firmly against the tight ring of muscle, working it into him.   
  
Komatsu all but sobbed at the strange intensity of it, the grass ripping under his fingers; he tried to rock back into the sensation, but the iron grip on his hips forced him to stay still as Zebra’s tongue pried him open.  By the time he finally pulled away, the chef was trembling and fully hard again, his cock almost aching as it dripped onto the ground below him.  Zebra let go of his hips, allowing him to sag forward slightly; he was still for a moment, panting, listening to the sounds of a bottle being opened, but after a few seconds he realized that there was nothing restraining his hands. Almost without thinking, he reached up under himself with one hand—and found his wrist grasped once again, pulled firmly away and pinned over his head along with his other hand as Zebra leaned down over him to snarl in his ear.  
  
“Keep your fuckin’ hands off my property. Maybe I _should_ cut my name in ya after all…teach you a fuckin’ lesson about keepin’ your hands to yourself,” he growled, his tone at once threatening and teasing. Komatsu might have responded, but the feeling of an oil-slick finger circling his entrance before slowly pushing into him provided a very powerful distraction. He stiffened for a moment, then forced himself to relax with a low groan, trying to adjust to the feeling of something as impressively large as one of Zebra’s fingers actually being inside of him. He pushed back slightly, biting his lip as he felt the finger twist inside of him before curling slightly and dragging across a spot that made him tense and gasp as pleasure shot through him; he clenched up around the digit inside of him, and this wrung an answering groan from the other man.  
  
“ _Fuck_. I knew you’d be tight—have to be, being so fuckin’ _small_ —but this…this is…” he trailed off, and Komatsu realized that Zebra was actually at a loss for words. He pumped his finger in and out of the chef a few times, twisting it this way and that until he was writhing and trying to grind back against the red-head’s hand.  
  
“Please,” he begged, finally, frustrated and needy. “ _More._ I need more _, please_ , just…jut put another finger in me.” This drew another little sound from Zebra, low and caught somewhere between a growl and a groan. He complied a second later, gently working a second slick finger into the chef; for all his threats, he really did seem to be worried about hurting him by accident. Komatsu pushed back towards him as the second finger finally slid home alongside the first, the two of them working together to stretch him out, scissoring inside him, forcing him to open up. He struggled, trying to pull his hands away from the vise-like grip they were held in, wanting to be able to reach down and touch himself—and threatened consequences be damned—but Zebra’s hold was just as unbreakable as it always was.  
  
“Is this what you were thinkin’ about when you were getting close to coming, back in that fuckin’ lift house? Were you trying to imagine what my fingers—what my _cock_ —would feel like inside of you?” Zebra’s voice sounded just slightly ragged, his breathing unsteady and rapid. He started to slide a third finger into the writhing chef, and Komatsu stilled for a moment, trying to adjust to the new feeling of fullness; it was almost painful this time, those three fingers stretching him wider than anything he’d had inside of himself before.  He made a little sound of pain, and Zebra abruptly let go of his wrists in favor of settling his hand on his belly, rubbing gentle circles, trying to get him to relax as he flexed and twisted his fingers inside of the chef.  
  
“Yes,” he admitted in a gasp, his hips rocking back slightly, as much as he could manage. And then, desperate and pleading: “ _Zebra-sa_ —” and again the honorific went unfinished, lost in a little groan of dismay as Zebra’s fingers withdrew entirely, leaving him feeling open and empty. The hand that had been lightly rubbing his belly moved to settle on his hip, the other hand sliding under him to curl around his cock.   
  
He gasped at the feeling of it, tension settling into his lower belly once again; he almost didn’t recognize the feeling of Zebra’s cock—now slick with oil—pressing against his asshole until he actually began to push _into_ him, and he gasped and then made a low, incoherent sound of pleasure just this side of agony as he was stretched open to what felt like an impossible degree. He was almost certain that he was being split in half as Zebra inched his way into him, a slow, relentless push that didn’t stop until he felt the other man’s hips flush against his own. It occurred to him, very briefly, that the bishokuya must have contorted himself into a profoundly awkward position to make this work; that thought was quickly pushed out of his mind by the realization that Zebra was _trembling_ above him, his body still except for the irregular shudders that worked their way through him.  
  
“Oh, _fuck_ , Komatsu,” he growled after a moment, his tone tense and unsteady as he lightly squeezed the chef’s cock before beginning to stroke it—almost roughly—in time with the movements of his hips as he tried a few careful, shallow thrusts. Komatsu found it almost hard to think, so focused on the burning stretch of his body as it was forced to accept the intrusion; he tried to relax, but the sharp jolts of pleasure each movement of Zebra’s hips or hand sent through him kept him tense and wriggling, trying to get the last bit of stimulation he needed. He panted, groaning half-formed pleas and whimpering tried to get Zebra to ease his grip on his hips, to be able to thrust himself back properly onto the cock currently filling him.  
  
“You…you’re getting close, yeah? I can _hear_ it, everything tightening up, your heart _pounding_ ,” Zebra said, his voice still rough; this was the first time that Komatsu had ever heard him stammer. “And— _fuck_ —I can _feel_ it, the way you’re squeezing…” he trailed off, swallowing hard— _audibly_. “C’mon, I wanna hear you…wanna _feel_ you come on my cock. Come for me,” he urged, the slick hand curled around Komatsu’s cock increasing its pace, making him grit his teeth and clench his hands with a helpless little moan, teetering on the edge. “Fuckin’ come for me!” The deep snarl, accompanied with a similarly deep thrust, was what sent him over the edge. He came with a wordless cry, thrashing in Zebra’s grip, his back arching and his fingers flexing out straight for a moment as he clenched—hard—around the cock inside of him.   
  
And then Zebra let go of his wrists, grabbing his hips with both hands and holding him still as he thrust into him with a series of groans that gradually grew louder until he finally threw his head back and roared—actually roared—his release at the night sky. Komatsu clapped his hands over his ears, wincing at the sheer volume of the cry and still impressed that it wasn’t more destructive than it was; a testament to Zebra’s self-control. The larger man remained inside of him for a moment, until the final spasms had subsided for both of them, and then slowly pulled out. Komatsu winced, both at the slight pain of it and at the sensation of remaining stretched open for a moment. Zebra scoped him up in a gesture that was far too possessive to be called a hug, pressing the chef tightly to his chest and nuzzling at the bite marks and bruises that dotted his shoulders and neck.  
  
“See?” he said finally, his tone almost mocking, not-quite-breathless. “Told ya you were better adapted to me than to Toriko.”   
  
Despite being thoroughly exhausted, they both managed to laugh at that.


End file.
